


Cisco on the Inside

by mosylu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen, Iron Heights, Torture, Warden Wolfe is a Twisted SOB, Whump, metaphobia at its finest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 22:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14482380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: Sent to Iron Heights for building the cold gun, Cisco plans to keep his head down, not attract anyone's attention (especially not the authoritarian Warden Wolfe) and have an uneventful stay in prison until they get this whole mess sorted out.But you know what they say about best laid plans.





	Cisco on the Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hedgi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedgi/gifts).



> Hedgi was having a rough few weeks, so when she asked for "something involving Cisco and Caitlin vs. either Ammunet or Warden Wolfe? please?" I came up with this and made sure to incorporate everything I could think of that she likes, plus some stuff for me.
> 
> Also, I wrote this entire thing before I went to check the Flash wiki for something and remembered that Warden Wolfe died at the end of “True Colors.” Ooops. But let’s all assume that this is the reality where he somehow escaped, and go on our merry way.

On the other side of the bulletproof glass, against the dour grey walls of the Iron Heights visiting room, Caitlin stood out like a sunbeam in her light summer dress and yellow blazer. She looked like she should be having brunch or something, not visiting a prison.

But damn, he was glad she was here.

Cisco picked up the handset and felt his whole body relax when her voice said, “Hey,” in his ear.

“Hey,” he said.

“How are you?” Her anxious eyes scanned his face and chest, presumably looking for gaping  wounds.

“It hasn’t been my best couple of days ever,” he admitted. “But would you believe it hasn’t been my worst, either?”

She made a face. “Really, how is it?”

“Food’s bad, wardrobe’s pretty dismal.” He plucked at his orange jumpsuit. “But other than that, it’s actually sort of okay. I figure I can hang in here for awhile.”

She bit her lip. “That’s good. Because the preliminary hearing’s not set yet.”

“What’s taking so long?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re even in there. I can’t believe you couldn’t make bail.”

“That’ll teach me to blow my savings on a fixer-upper Corvette off Craigslist.”

“Don’t make jokes. This is awful.”

“Well, I mean, I did build the cold gun for Snart. And he did do a lot of crime with it. And none of his gang are around anymore, so I guess someone had to be the fall guy.”

“You weren’t an accomplice, you were coerced!” she said fiercely.

“We’ll get it all cleared up in front of the judge,” he said.

She fiddled nervously with the silver crescent moon pendant she wore and glanced over her shoulder at the guard standing against the back wall. “Are they treating you okay?”

He shrugged. “Nobody’s beaten me up yet.”

She looked horrified.

“Kidding! It’s fine. I’ve been able to stay off the warden’s radar, so that’s a good thing. Right?”

She worried the crescent moon again. “Right. Yes. Just - just keep your head down, okay?” She lowered her voice. “Don’t use your P-O-W-E-R-S - ”

“Shhh,” he hissed as one of the guards on her side looked over at her. “Christalive, Caitlin, they’re not toddlers. They can spell!”

“I’m just saying,” she mumbled, cupping her hand over her mouth as if she thought they might be able to read lips, too. It was about as subtle as a brick to the head. “Don’t use them.”

He scowled at her. “Fine,” he said. “I won’t. I’ll keep my nose clean and my head down and I’m gonna have a totally uneventful stay in Iron Heights.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to - ”

“No,” she cut him off. “Anything but that.”

“I promise,” he said instead. He ran his finger along the steel-wrapped cord that connected the handset to the wall. “So, uh. How’s everybody? How are you?”

“Not great,” she said. “But we’re not the ones in prison. We - ”

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he winced. “Time’s up,” said a guard’s voice.

Cisco wanted to slap that hand off his shoulder, but he’d just promised that he’d behave himself. Instead, he twisted around. “I thought we got half an hour.”

The guard shrugged. “Warden says your time is up.”

He gritted his teeth, then turned back to Caitlin. “So, I gotta go,” he said.

“Now,” the guard said and took the handset out of his hand and hung it up.

“Jesus,” he hissed between his teeth, but he got to his feet. Caitlin was watching through the glass, her eyes wide. _Come back,_ he mouthed.

She nodded. He let the guard shove him toward the door to the rest of the prison, but as he went through it, he looked over his shoulder again.

She was still watching him, face pale, fingers wrapped around the crescent moon pendant.

The door shut between them.

* * *

One of the worst things about being in prison - besides, you know,  _being in prison -_ was the unbelievable boredom. The inmates were told when to sleep and when to wake up and when to shower and when to eat and when to go outside and when to come in and how long to do all of those things. But within that structure, there was very little to actually occupy his mind. No machines to fix, no music to listen to, a severely limited choice of TV.

In the yard, he saw one of the other D-Block guys sitting at the picnic table, reading a book. He tapped him on the shoulder, and a guard barked, “No touching!”

Cisco yanked his hands back, holding them up, until the guard looked away. He’d forgotten about that rule.

The reader hadn’t looked up. But he said, “What.”

“Just, uh, wanted to know if I could borrow that when you were done.”

Without looking up, he asked, “What’ll you give me for it?” in a way that didn’t suggest _please_ was what he was looking for.

Cisco recalculated very, very swiftly. “Actually, you know what, I think I’ve read it. So never mind.”

The reader grunted and turned a page.

He fiddled with the cuffs of his jumpsuit and asked another D-Block inmate, “So, when is our library day again?” They got an hour in the prison library once a week.

“Friday, but you’re not missing anything. They won’t give us anything good. No Playboy, no Guns & Ammo. Not even nasty lady-porn books. Just fucking Martha Stewart and cat mysteries and shit.”

“You dissin’ on Martha?” a third guy growled, and Cisco pretended he wanted to go use the hand weights because even on his third day, he could tell when someone felt like fighting.

Barry had filled him in on a lot of how prison worked, from his dad’s experiences and his own time in there, but Cisco was also a lifetime watcher-of-currents, and he knew how to avoid sharks. Or if he couldn’t avoid them, at least he knew how to swim alongside them so peacefully that they didn’t think about eating him.

He nodded at the other guy doing curls. His name was Brixton and they’d sat at the same table for dinner the night before.

“Hey, man,” Brixton said under the noise of the scuffle on the other side of the yard, and the guards rushing in to break it up. “How’s the tat?”

Cisco rolled his shoulder a little and rubbed his chest through the jumpsuit. “Still sore. Little itchy.” Two days before getting arrested and put in prison was probably about the worst time to get your very first tattoo, but he hadn’t exactly had a choice in the matter.

“You wanna take care of those.” Brixton pointed at a star inked just below his elbow. “When I got that one, it got infected.”

“Eeesh,” Cisco said. “Looks okay now, though.”

“My lady put witch hazel on it until it healed up. Worked like a dream.”

“You think they’ll give me witch hazel in the infirmary?”

“That’s a dream too,” Brixton said, picking out his weights. He did a few curls with a weight the size of Cisco’s head, as the yard went quiet again after the fighters had been taken away. “Saw you got a visitor today.”

“Yep,” Cisco said, picking up one of the available weights, testing it in his hand. He glanced around, set it down, and picked up the next largest size before settling in for his first set of bicep curls.

“She was fine. Was that your lady?”

“Don’t have a lady.” The pang he felt at saying it was starting to dull. It had been three months since he and Cynthia had called it quits, after he’d turned down Breacher’s job offer in the spring. “The woman who visited - she’s just a friend.”

Brixton smirked. “Can’t seal the deal?”

“Never tried. Like I said, friends.” He started doing curls, counting out the Fibonacci sequence in his head.

He snorted. “Sure, whatever.”

Cisco gritted his teeth, focusing on his counting. Was he on the five set, or the eight set?

“Those buttoned-up types always get me,” Brixton said dreamily. “Makes you wonder what she’ll do when you rip off those buttons. You think she’s a screamer? Ahhhh, even if she’s not, I could make it happen.”

Cisco lost count and switched arms. “You remember the part where she’s my friend?”

“Relax, man, I’m just speculating.”

“You’re talking about her like she’s a piece of meat.”

“You telling me how to talk now?”

He dropped the weight to the cement yard with a clang and stood. “I’m telling you to talk more respectfully about a human woman, is what I’m telling you.”

Brixton dropped his weight too, with a much louder clang, and unfolded himself to a much greater height than Cisco. “Say that again.”

Cisco stepped to him, clenching his jaw. “Shut your face. About my friend.”

Brixton punched him. Or he tried, anyway. Cisco ducked and tackled him around the waist. it was like running into a slab of meat. And then it was like the slab of meat picked him up and flicked him four feet away.

He landed on his ass, skidding across the cement in a way that promised road rash later on, when his adrenaline had burned off. He looked up to see Brixton charging, and he instinctively flung out his arm and threw a blast.

As Brixton reeled backward and guards charged in, he said, “Oh, _shit._ ”

* * *

Warden Wolfe sat across the table, stone-faced and silent. Behind Cisco’s shoulders, the guards stood with the same expressions.

Cisco sat in the middle, sore from the fight, his head hanging. “Look,” he said, picking at his thumbnail. “Uh, I’m sorry. And I won’t do it again.”

“Prison regulations state that metas cannot be held in the general population.” Warden Wolfe flipped through the file in front of him. “You didn’t disclose your meta status upon arrest.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant!”

Wolfe gave him a hard look.

Cisco swallowed. “I mean, it didn’t have anything to do with what I was arrested for. Sir.”

“Failure to disclose meta status is a misdemeanor.”

“Oh, that’s not bad. That’s, like, community service? I’ll build houses or something.”

If possible, the warden’s face went harder.

“Come on, it doesn’t have to be a thing. Sir. I swear I’ll stay away from that guy, I won’t use them again - ”

“Them?”

“It,” Cisco said hastily. “It, singular. I just have the one. Just one meta ability.”

Wolfe eyed him coldly. “One or five or fifty, it doesn’t matter. Prison regulations state that metas are to be held in the meta wing.” He jerked his chin at the guards, who grabbed Cisco by each elbow and pulled him to his feet.

“Wait,” Cisco said. “What about - do I get visitors?”

“Warden’s discretion,” Wolfe said, making a note in his file. 

* * *

Caitlin turned away from the prison door, pulling out her phone. “He’s been in the meta wing since last night,” she growled to the person on the other end of the line. “I hope you’re happy.” She listened for a moment, and said, “No, I wasn’t able to see him. They said maybe tomorrow. Give me a moment.”

She walked around the corner to where her car was parked, as close to the prison’s north wall as permitted. She stood looking up at the high walls, the barbed wire, the merciless guard towers. “Please be okay,” she whispered, twisting her moon necklace in her fingers.

* * *

Cisco regretted ever complaining about boredom in gen-pop. Shit, gen-pop had been a never-ending pachanga compared to the meta wing. Their food got delivered to them on trays and they got half an hour of yard time a day, each of them with a guard looming over them and power-dampening cuffs on their wrists. Otherwise, they were confined to their cells. No library privileges or weight room time.

“Warden’s discretion,” was the only answer he ever got when he asked about visiting hours. But from the little sneers and snorts that he heard from the other cells, he gathered that hardly anybody got to see their visitors.

When he found himself doing push-ups in his cell to pass the time, he understood how dudes got so jacked in prison.

It was a different set of guards in the meta wing, too. The gen-pop guards were okay. Still prison guards, obviously, so it wasn’t like they were anybody’s best friend. But they could be friendly and they would call you by your last name, at least.

The meta-wing guards were harder-faced, and called everyone “inmate,” and spoke mostly in orders. When Cisco asked a question or made some comment, all he got was a one-word answer or a flick of the eyes in response.

If they responded at all.

It was a full day before he saw Warden Wolfe again, and when he did, he jumped up from his cot so fast, he got dizzy. “Hey!” he yelled through the bars. “Hey, Warden! Did I get any visitors? Hey! It was visiting day, did I get a visitor?”

“Yes,” Wolfe said.

“Why didn’t I see her, then? I get a half an hour on visiting day, up to four hours a month.”

“That’s gen-pop,” the warden said. “You’re in meta wing. Visitors are at my discretion only.”

“I want to see my visitor,” Cisco said. “I want to see her next time she comes. And I want to get a library book or something, I’m bored as hell.”

Wolfe turned his back and left the meta wing.

Nothing daunted, Cisco kept it up whenever he saw a guard, or the warden, asking to see his visitor, asking for something to read or write or do, asking for more time in the yard or a chance to go the weight room.

The way the cells were arranged, he couldn’t really see and barely even talk to the other metas confined with him. He did see them in the yard, during their half hour. Mostly they all kept to themselves, but one day, one of them gestured at him. “Mijo, come here.”

Her name was Fabiana Duarte. She was plump and middle-aged, with streaks of grey in her black hair and comfortably wrinkly skin a shade or two darker than his. She gave off the general air of a daycare teacher.

He was kind of sure she was the one who’d stolen thousands and thousands of dollars by lifting people’s bank cards and reading their minds for the PINs.

But she looked like one of his aunties and her dampener cuffs were brightly lit, and their guards were sharing a cigarette in the shade, so he went.

She started to put her hand on his arm but a guard barked “No touching” and they stepped back from each other.

“Mira,” she said. “I’m going to give you a hint for your own good. Knock it off with the asking for stuff.”

It was pretty sweet of her to try and save him from himself, but he said, “No, no way. That’s all, like, basic stuff. It’s my right as a U.S. citizen to - ”

She snorted. “You’re not a U.S. citizen anymore. You’re an inmate of the Iron Heights meta wing.”

“Well, we should still have rights. Like, to more exercise than walking around this yard, or to get stuff from the library, or - ”

Thoroughly exasperated now, she said, “Are you stupid or do you just like pain?”

He blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

A bell rang, and all the guards started gathering up their charges.

“Hey, hey,” Cisco said in a low voice as their guards started toward them. “What do you mean, Fabiana?”

She let out a grunt of exasperation. “Just behave yourself. And shut up.”

Yeah, just like his aunties.

* * *

He ignored Fabiana’s warning, and kept asking for anything and everything he could think of, top of the list being his visiting hours.

“She’s here, I know she came,” he said.“She promised she’d come every day. I want to see her, okay? I just want to see her.”

He couldn’t see the occupants of the other cells, but he could hear them, letting out groans as he wheedled and pestered. Even occasionally a bellow of _“Shut the fuck up!”_

It was hard to blame them. He was annoying himself, even. But he kept it up, stubbornly, using the time he lay staring at the ceiling to think up new and ever-more-obnoxious ways of pestering the prison hierarchy.

* * *

 

The third evening of his stay in meta wing, Wolfe came after dinner.

Cisco sat up on his cot. This was unusual. Wolfe had a schedule and he stuck to it. Instead of speaking to the guards or looking in on any of the other metas, Wolfe walked directly to his cell and stood there, just outside the bars. His arms were crossed and his face unreadable.

“Hey, Warden,” Cisco chirped. “Any news on my asks there? How about visiting day? Tomorrow’s visiting day. My friend’ll be here. I wanna see her. Am I going to see her?”

“You’re going to stop asking for things, inmate,” Wolfe said.

“Uh, no, I’m not because these aren’t that big of a deal, honestly. Seeing my friend and getting something to read and getting a little fresh air, why is that such a big deal? I think it’s very reasonable, don’t you?”

The warden nodded once, his face as blank and hard as ever.

Then the pain hit.

It was like all the muscles in his body had suddenly decided to play tug-of-war with all the other muscles. He felt like pork in the process of being pulled, like he was being put through a blender and then run through again.

Then it was over, and he collapsed, gasping, against the wall.

The warden watched him with shark eyes. Flat and cold. “There won’t be any more requests, Inmate.”

“Wha - what was - what did - ”

The hellish pain hit him again, like his skin being peeled away and his bones being hammered into dust from the inside.

Someone was screaming, very far away.

Then it was gone again, and the wall was there, hard and cold, but cold was good because he felt like he’d been lit on fire and _holy Moses,_ what kind of hell-spawned meta power was that?

“I said, there won’t be any more requests, inmate,” Wolfe said again. “Will there?”

“Nnnnnooo,” Cisco mumbled through trembling lips. His throat felt raw. He wondered why.

“I didn’t hear you.”

At the words, he tensed up, anticipating what came next. If anything that made it worse. He writhed helplessly on his cot, fingers digging into the blankets as his body tried to tear itself apart at the molecular level.

As it subsided, he figured out who’d been screaming.

It had been him.

“Will there be any more requests, inmate?”

“No!” he shrieked, a high thin noise. “No, no, no, no, no - ”

“That’s what I thought,” Wolfe said, and left.

Cisco wheezed against the agonized twitching of his muscles, feeling cold sweat run down his face and spine and collect in the bend of his joints. Whimpers escaped his abused throat and he was helpless to stop them.

Every little pain and nagging stiffness he’d had before had been ratcheted up to eleven. The occasional soreness in his shoulder from breaching, the knee that he’d twisted last year and still sometimes got stiff, even his bruised tailbone from Brixton tossing him across the prison yard, were all magnified to horrific proportions.

His tattoo beat like a drum against his heart.

When he tried to lay down, his stomach revolted, and it was dumb luck that he managed to vomit up the bland prison fare over the side of his cot onto the floor. When there was nothing left but thin, acid bile, he collapsed, face buried in his pillow.

From a few cells over, Fabiana called out, “You alive in there, fool?”

He made some kind of high-pitched keening noise in response.

“I tried to tell you,” she said. “He’s been holding off on you - ”

“And us,” another voice grumbled.

“ - because you’re a short-termer and he didn’t want you getting out and blabbing.” She snorted. “But you just had to be that annoying, didn’t you?”

With a herculean effort, he pushed himself up far enough to pull his face from the pillow. It was smudged with sweat and tears and snot and drool and bile and even a little blood. It took him two tries to flip it over, and then he collapsed again. He groaned as random muscles twitched in the memory of pain.

“Yeah,” the second voice said. “He’s probably learned his lesson.”

With his face buried in the cool, coarse material of his pillowcase, Cisco mouthed, _Gotcha, you rat bastard_ , just before he passed out.

* * *

_One week ago_

Silence fell in the cortex as Joe finished telling them about the meta who’d come to him, secretly, and told a story of torture and punishment in the meta wing of Iron Heights.

“What kind of horrible power is that?” Caitlin breathed.

“What kind of sick fuck uses it?” Cisco added.

Barry had his head in his hands, Iris rubbing his back soothingly. Now he sat up. “You guys, this is on us."

“We didn’t know this was going on,” Caitlin objected.

“That doesn’t matter. We arrested them, we put them in there, and now Wolfe is hurting them. Because he can.”

“Why didn’t he do anything when you were in there?” Iris asked.

“Didn’t want to damage the merchandise, probably,” Barry said. “But now he’s not selling them to Amunet Black, so he can do whatever he wants.”

“What do we do?” Cisco said. “Can we bust in there? Prison break?”

“We put them in there for a reason,”  Iris said. “They don’t deserve what Wolfe is doing to them, but they can’t just be let go, either. Some of them are dangerous.”

“We need to remove Wolfe,” Joe said. “Legally. He needs to be convicted in a court of law and imprisoned.”

“Whatever he's doing, it’ll be hard to prove to the specifications of the court,” Caitlin said. “There’s no injury site, their description is very nebulous, and we’ve never encountered him as a meta.”

“He’s smart,” Joe said. “Only using it on people that most of society doesn’t care about, who aren’t going to tell, and who might not be believed if they do.”

Iris frowned over the report. “What exactly do you think he's doing to them?”

“It’s hard to say from the testimony offered,” Caitlin said. “They didn’t report an entry or exit burn, so it’s not electrical in nature. He could be stimulating the pain centers of their brain. It could even be a kind of bio-kinesis, where he can temporarily control their muscles.”

Cisco shuddered. “Gross.”

Barry’s eyes narrowed. “Hard to prove what he’s doing, hard to prove it’s even him unless we can actually record the dark matter activity.”

Cisco reached over for his tablet. “Well, I’ve got something that might help. You know that dark-matter scanner of yours, Caitlin? I’ve been tinkering with it so we can wear a small version out into the field and detect the kind of surges that accompany meta powers.”

Her eyes lit. “Pair that with a biometric scanner so you can cross-reference the pain reaction with the dark-matter surge, and that’s proof he’s causing it. Yes, that could work!”

“No,” Barry said. “It won’t.”

Cisco scowled. “Hey, my tech always works.”

“I know, but we can’t get it to any of the metas on the inside. Everything that comes to any of the prisoners from the outside is thoroughly searched. Even if it did get past that, nothing would be safe from theft or guard searches unless it was implanted under the skin. And even if we could somehow manage that, who would agree to intentionally provoking Wolfe into using his powers on them, unless we gave them some kind of immunity or amnesty?”

“What are you saying?” Joe said, frowning.

“We need to send somebody in.”

* * *

_Now_

Cisco spent most of the day after Wolfe’s visit trying to find a comfortable position for his sore carcass. He was stiff all over, like someone had poured cement into his clothes. Sometimes he could doze, but mostly he stared at the wall or the ceiling.

He’d gotten the proof of Wolfe’s torture. Now he just needed to make sure it got back to Star Labs, and then they could get him out before they arrested Wolfe.

 _Please get me out of here,_ he thought.

He tugged painfully at the buttons on his jumpsuit, and slid his fingers under the orange cloth. Pressing on his chest through his cheap prison undershirt, he could feel the three little hard spots under his skin. Biometric scanner, dark matter sensor, wireless transmitter. He chanted them like a prayer.

They’d painted that tattoo on him to explain any redness or swelling from insertion. It was henna, though, and it would start to fade soon. If anybody noticed, they’d know something was up.

After he got the proof, before he got out safely - this was the most dangerous part of the sting.

He heard his meal trays clang onto the floor and left them where they lay. His stomach hurt too much to get it to accept food. But when yard time came, he dragged himself to a sitting position, and then to his feet, and then forced himself to take slow, stumbling steps toward his cell door. With his guard at his back, he made his way to the yard. All the other meta inmates and their guards followed at his pace, complaining that they were losing out on yard time.

The sun blazed down, beating on his shoulders and the top of his head. He let it bake him as he took a slow, shambling lap around the yard, coaxing his body to move and wincing as it fought back. He’d become the opposite of Barry, he thought sardonically. Slowest Man Alive.

He made it halfway around, and then just leaned against the north wall. Caitlin had sworn to him she would be there every day, parked just on the other side of that specific wall. With the dampener cuffs on, there was no way to tell if she was there right now, but he pictured her there, waiting for the signal from the device in his chest.

_Please let the transmitter work._

_Please let the range perform like it did in tests._

_Please just get me out of here._

Too soon, the bell rang and they led him back inside. When he got back to his cell, he dropped into his cot and was asleep almost before the lock on his cell door engaged.

* * *

He dreamed that Wolfe came back and hurt him until his heart shorted out like a bad connection.

He dreamed that Wolfe somehow knew about the sensors and had them cut out while he watched with that non-expression and Cisco screamed.

He dreamed that Wolfe didn’t know about the sensors, but that they shorted out anyway from whatever Wolfe did to him.

He dreamed that he’d somehow been forgotten, and he spent the rest of his life in the meta wing of Iron Heights prison, alone and hurting and desperate for an escape that never came.

When he woke, sweating and shivering and hoarse from shouting, someone from one of the other cells said, “Bad dream?”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled. He couldn’t tell who it was.

“Yeah, I got those too, after the first time.” There was a creak as if his faceless, anonymous comfort had rolled over in his cot. “You get used to them.”

* * *

When he woke again, it was morning. He didn’t know that by the sunlight or the clock, neither of which were present in the meta wing. He knew because when he opened his eyes, the tray that had just clanged onto the floor had a blob of scrambled eggs and a triangle of toast on it.

He considered it. Although the soreness had eased up some, he felt wobbly and weak even though he was still lying down. Probably because he hadn’t eaten a thing yesterday. He had to get some calories in him, even shitty prison calories.

He managed to choke down about half of the cardboard-tasting eggs before they came back for the tray, and that helped him get to the shower when that time came. The hot(ish) water helped more. He tugged his fingers through his wet hair, wincing. Crappy lowest-bidder shampoo - he didn’t want to think about what it looked like.

Remembering his dream, he peered down at the tattoo high on his chest, cleaning it carefully and gently. The sun with its squiggly rays was only about three inches across and done in simple reddish-black lines. The swelling and redness had mostly gone down over the past few days. It hurt, but everything hurt.

He shifted a little so his arm blocked his motions from the rest of the shower room. He ran his fingers around the edge of the sun and felt three tiny, hard bumps under the skin, evenly spaced around the perimeter.

Biometric scanner. Dark matter sensor. Wireless transmitter.

Yep. Still there.

* * *

After showers came the long, dull stretch until lunch. He lay dozing on his cot, trying to escape his aches and pains. They weren’t as bad as yesterday, but he also wasn’t about to go out and run a marathon.

A shoe scuffed outside his cell. He rolled over to see who it was, then flinched backward. The warden stood on the other side of the bars.

His stomach churned. He hadn’t seen Wolfe since two nights before, and the memory of pain jittered through his body.

“Inmate,” Wolfe said. “On your feet.”

 _So you can hit me with that power again? Watch me fall on the floor instead of writhing on this bed?_ It all ran through his mind, but his tongue wouldn’t let it out.

“I said get up.”

Cisco swung his legs over the edge of the cot and hauled himself to a standing position. He winced as he straightened up, and some flicker of expression crossed Wolfe’s face for a split second.

Like satisfaction.

Or pleasure.

Distantly, he noted that there was a guard behind Wolfe. What kind of a sign was that? He hadn’t noticed any guard the other night. Would Wolfe whammy him again if there was a witness?

Of course, he hadn’t had any trouble doing it in front of the other metas.

Wolfe unlocked the cell door, and Cisco took a step back. But the warden didn’t come in. Instead, he said, “Come out here, inmate.”

It wasn’t yard time. Visiting day had been yesterday. But Caitlin had promised to come every day whether it was visiting day or not. Maybe Wolfe had decided that he could see her today.

Maybe Santa Claus existed.

(His brain whispered, _Maybe you’re going home._ )

“Come out here. I won’t say it again.”

Cisco stepped out of the cell. A pair of dampener cuffs wrapped around his wrists and clicked closed. A hard hand nudged his shoulder - not Wolfe’s. The guard. Wolfe, as always, stood and watched.

Cisco crossed the meta wing. Possibilities waterfalled through his brain. Some horrifying, some wonderful. None of them felt entirely real.

The door to meta wing shut behind them, and Wolfe stopped. Turned.

Cisco had to tip his chin up to look Wolfe in the eye. There was a camera up in the corner. There were always cameras in the hallways, in the gen-pop halls, in the yard and the weight room and the dining hall and the commissary.

The only place without cameras in Iron Heights, besides the showers, was the meta wing.

The eye of the camera felt like the only thing between him and … something. He didn’t know what.

“You’re being released,” Wolfe said.

It took the words a moment to sink in. He said, “I - what?”

“The charges have been dropped. There’s no reason to hold you here anymore.”

He blinked a few times. “Oh.”

The warden stared at him with those flat shark eyes. Cisco stared back for a split second, and then looked down, hunching his shoulders.

When he looked up again, that flicker of satisfaction, or pleasure, was just leaving Wolfe’s face.

He glanced at the guard over Cisco’s shoulder. “Take him to discharge.” He turned away, down another corridor, and the guard gave Cisco a nudge in the small of the back.  

He stumbled forward, caught himself, and started walking, the guard right on his heels. The corridor seemed to stretch out forever, a long tunnel of grey-painted cinderblocks broken up by the occasional door or camera.

Occasionally the guard said, “Right” or “Left” or made him stop while he badged through a door. The walking went on forever, and Cisco wondered how deep in the bowels of Iron Heights the meta wing actually was. How thick the walls were. How impossible it would be to get any kind of signal through it.

His stomach trembled.

Was he seriously leaving? Or was this something else Wolfe was doing to him? Or maybe the paperwork was through, the charges really were dropped, but all his cowering hadn’t fooled Wolfe into thinking he didn’t need to worry about Cisco. Maybe he was supposed to suffer a mysterious accident on his way through these endless corridors. Maybe they were going in circles.

He counted cameras, checked live lights, calculated blind spots, and held his breath until he was through each and every one of them.

They stopped in front of one last badge reader next to one last door. Unlike the others, this one actually had a window, a skinny pane of glass with wires cross-crossed through it. Through the glass, he could see the room where he’d gotten signed in to Iron Heights - what, a week ago? Was that it?

Amazing how long seven days could feel.

He thought, _Maybe I really am leaving._

Behind him, the guard said in a low voice, “You’re going to tell them something.”

“Tell who? What?” _Open the door already. Open it and let me out._

The guard’s breath stirred the hair at Cisco’s temple. “Warden never touched you,” he said.

He stared at the window, focusing on the wires embedded in the glass. “What?”

“The warden,” the guard repeated. “Never touched you, did he? Never laid a finger on you.”

“… no?”

“So that’s what you’re going to say,” the guard said. “The warden never touched you.”

“Say to who?”

“Say it. The warden never touched you. Did he?”

“… no,” Cisco said.

“No, what, inmate?”

“No, the warden never touched me.”

“Good,” the guard said. “You’re going to say that whenever anybody asks. Or that ginger who visited you is going get a visit from us.”

He went stiff. “No. Please.”

“Skinny thing, isn’t she? Breakable, those skinny chicks.”

“Don’t hurt her. I’ll say anything you tell me to say. To anybody you tell me to say it to. Just don’t hurt her.”

“You don’t have to lie, inmate. Nobody’s asking you to lie. Just tell the truth. The warden never touched you.”

Cisco shook his head hard. “No, he never did. Never laid a finger on me.”

“That’s right,” the guard said, and opened the door.

Cisco walked through.

* * *

It seemed like being released from prison should be a triumphal thing. Trumpets, choruses of angels, et cetera. Instead, it turned out to be more paperwork, under the apathetic eye of one of the regular prison guards. The one who had threatened him had left - back to terrorize more metas, presumably.

He had to turn in his orange jumpsuit and everything issued to him by the prison. After a search of his naked body to ensure that he wasn’t smuggling anything out - he stared at the wall and thought about sunlight and Big Belly Burger and his own bed -  he did get his own clothes back, the ones he’d been arrested in.

They smelled institutional, like they’d been run through the prison laundry along with a hundred other guys’ clothes and cheap, harsh laundry detergent. He put them on anyway and decided that when he got home, they were going directly in the trash can.

He filled out forms that attested he’d gotten his clothes back, his wallet, his phone. The latter was dead, of course. It had been sitting in a box for a week, running the battery down.

He signed everything they told him to sign, his hand shaking a little.

The release officer shook his hand and said, “Someone’s waiting for you. Lucky. Not everyone gets that.” He badged Cisco through the last door.

Caitlin was in the waiting room, clutching her purse to her stomach. When she saw him, her face lit up, and then he was in her arms.

He shut his eyes and soaked in the feel of her. The familiar smell of her shampoo and the iron-band tightness of her hug, like always when she’d been distressed for a long time, and how soft she was against him.

Getting released was slowly starting to feel real.

But she was also here, in the prison. He couldn’t stop thinking about the guard who’d mused about her breakability, just a few walls away.

“Get out,” he muttered against her ear. “Out, out, out.”

“Yes,” she whispered, and pulled away. He grabbed her hand, unwilling to not be touching her.

“Is that everything?” she asked the release officer.

“Yes, ma'am, you’re free to go.”

“Good.” She pushed open the last door and the sunlight hit Cisco like a hammer. He flinched away from it, and from the vastness outside the door. No walls. Outside felt way too big.

She squeezed his hand - he hadn’t realized he’d tightened his grip - and said brightly, “I’m parked right over there. Close. Let’s go. Everybody’s waiting. They want to see you.”

They crossed the parking lot. Still no walls, so _big._ Cisco felt like a bug on a tabletop, waiting for someone to smash him. Them.

“Faster,” he said, trying to lengthen his stride, but he was still just a little too sore to go any faster than he was. She made soothing noises.

They got in the car - he had to let go of her hand - and the enclosure of the vehicle around him felt safe, even as she pulled out and drove through the gates.

She hit a button for speakerphone and when the call was answered, said. “We’re out. We’re driving away.”

The reply sounded brisk and official. “Copy that, ma'am.”

She ended the call. He reached out and took her hand again. She held it and drove one-handed, her face tense. The road to the prison was long and empty, but a few minutes later, two cars roared by them, going the other way.

Caitlin turned a corner into a convenience store and parked next to a plain white panel van. They hopped out and immediately the back door of the van popped open to reveal one of CCPD’s mobile command units inside, and Iris and Joe.

Joe helped him up into the van and Iris hugged him hard. “How are you?” she asked.

“Eh,” Cisco said, hugging her back. “I’m out, so.”

Joe looped his arm around Cisco’s shoulders and pulled him in for his own hug. “It’s almost over, son.” He reached behind him for a pair of headphones. “You want to listen in on the big moment?”

Cisco had thought he would, picturing this in his cell all those dull hours. _Warden Wolfe, you’re under arrest for torture and abuse. You’re going to jail forever, you sick fuck._

But he shook his head. Suddenly the idea of hearing Wolfe’s voice again made him want to heave.

Joe nodded and put the headphones on his own head, turning to some screens.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Caitlin said.

He scootched over next to her, and as if she knew what he needed, she slipped her arm around his waist. He leaned into her body, ignoring the way Iris’s brow quirked up.

He hadn’t realized it until her first hug, but the week undercover in the prison had left him touch-starved. Having hands on him - kind hands, that didn’t want him to move or stop or turn, that didn’t shove or nudge like they were trying to get a farm animal to change direction - felt like a big bottle of cold water after crossing the desert.

“I was worried you didn’t get the last data drop,” he said, reaching out to touch her moon necklace. “I spent my entire yard time yesterday just hanging out on the north wall.”

“Oh, I got it,” she said grimly. “And it sealed the warrant on Wolfe.”

“But regulations state that releases have to happen in the morning,” Iris added, “and we couldn’t push that without tipping him off. Otherwise we would have had you out last night.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I wasn’t in great shape yesterday and besides, he left me alone.”

She gave him a quick, concerned look, and he shook his head. “Just the aftereffects. Soreness.”

Caitlin grabbed her purse, dug in it for a moment, and handed him two ibuprofen. “Enough for now?”

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing them and drinking deeply from the bottle of water she gave him next.

She pulled a tablet over and tapped a few buttons, lips pursed. She reached up and took off the moon necklace, touching two stones. The tablet beeped and the screen filled with data from the biometric scanner, transmitted to the necklace and then uplinked to Star Labs servers.

He looked down at his own scanned body on the screen. “See?” he said to Caitlin. “All there.”

“Full checkup later,” she told him. “No arguments.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” he said.

Joe let out a triumphant grunt, and they turned toward him. “They got him, Dad?” Iris asked.

“In custody,” he reported. “Being transported to Central.”  

The last knot of tension in Cisco’s chest snapped, and he sagged where he stood, letting Caitlin’s arm hold him up for a moment.

This was no guarantee of anything. He might escape; he might get off. They might be hearing a lot more of Gregory Wolfe. But for right now, he wasn’t hurting or killing any more metas under his care at Iron Heights, and that was enough for Cisco.

A moment later, a knock sounded on the back panel, and Iris leaned over to open it. Barry climbed inside, flushed with victory. “Got ‘im,” he said. “It’s over. We did it.”

“Cisco did it,” Caitlin said.

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah. You did it, man.” He stretched out his long arms and pulled Cisco in for a hug.

Cisco hugged him back, but pushed away after a moment. “Hey, Bare?”

“Mmmm?” Barry was peeling his cowl up off his face. His hair stuck out all crazy.

Cisco steeled himself. “Don’t ask me to do something like that ever again.”

Barry’s face scrunched up a little. “Hey, man, I’m sorry, I know it must have been rough. But it had to be you. Wolfe and the guards knew me and Iris, and Caitlin doesn’t have any powers anymore, so she wouldn’t have gotten put in the meta wing.”

“I know,” he said. “I know all that. I’m glad Wolfe is going down and I’m glad I did that. But I’m still saying, don’t ever ask me to do that again.”

Barry’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and finally he nodded. “Okay,” he said in a subdued voice. “Never again.”

“Good.” Cisco brushed his hair behind his ears, suddenly self-conscious. But that had been running through his mind in all those hours staring at the ceiling, too. “So, uh, what now?” He looked at Joe. “You need my statement or whatever?”

“Not right away,” Joe said, looking at him keenly. “Lot of stuff for the cops to do first.”

“Good,” Caitlin said. “That means there’s time for a full checkup back at Star Labs.”

* * *

Barry offered to run them back, but Cisco wanted to test out his breaches, after a week of exposure to power dampeners. They felt a little sputtery at first, but Caitlin put her hand on his back and the breach spewed open, the same as it always had. They jumped through to the comfort and familiarity of Star Labs.

She checked everything she could think of, and he let her, smiling a little as she fussed. When she checked his back, she frowned. “There’s some bruising.”

“Yep,” he said. “Not from the warden. From when I had to get caught using my powers so I’d get transferred into the meta wing.”

She eyed him. “You don’t bruise in response to your powers.”

“I do in response to another prisoner trying to kick my ass.”

“Cisco! You were in a prison fight?”

“It’s fine!” he assured her. “Funny story, actually. First night at dinner, I run into this guy I went to high school with, Andy Brixton. We were in a bunch of AP classes and the GSA together. Anyway, he agreed to scuffle up with me in the yard so I had an excuse to use my powers out in the open.”

“Cisco - ”

“I know you had fun being extremely unsubtle and trying to tip the guard off during your visit, but the warden wasn’t noticing me and the clock was ticking. It’s okay. Andy didn’t hurt me, not really. He’s always been a good guy.” He thought of what he’d vibed when he’d managed to touch Andy’s shoulder. “One who made some bad choices in life, maybe. But a good guy.”

She shook her head. “Prison fight,” she muttered.

“It worked,” Cisco said. “I saw what I needed to see in gen-pop and then got transferred into the meta wing and got right on Wolfe’s shit list. Three birds, one stone.”

“How was he in the general population?”

“All the guys I talked to said he was a stickler for rules but otherwise ignored them. I guess he just wanted to hurt metas.”

“That says something about him, doesn’t it?” she said.

“Nothing good.”

She had to numb his skin with cream before she took out the sensors, but when she had, that was the work of a few moments with scalpel and forceps.

“Biometric scanner,” she said, dropping the tiny device into a sterile dish with a clang. “Dark matter sensor - ” clang “- and wireless transmitter.” She smiled at him. “All out.”

“Yay,” he said. “Officially not a cyborg anymore.”

She cleaned the small wounds, put a stitch in each of them, and taped sterile gauze over his chest. She stripped off her gloves, but instead of telling him he was clear, she pulled a chair over. “How are you really?“ she asked.

"I’ll be better after some Big Belly Burger,” he said. “The food was seriously shitty. And such small portions!”

“You lost seven pounds in there,” she said absently. “So yes, Big Belly Burger it is. But I mean you. No jokes, please. How are you doing?”

He met her eyes and found he had to look away. He picked at a fray in his cords and said slowly, “I keep waiting to wake up again.”

“Again?”

“I had bad dreams last night. Being out - it feels like a good dream that’s about to turn bad.”

He reached out for her hand and she let him take it. He held it, feeling the softness and warmth of her skin, her thumb rubbing soothingly over his knuckles.

“It’s not a dream,” she said. “You’re out, and you’re staying out. And in case nobody else says it, going in was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

“I went to prison,” he said. “People do it every day.”

“You went to a place where someone was going to hurt you. Where you had to make someone hurt you. And then you had to wait on us, until we could retrieve you. And you had to do all of that without your powers. I can’t imagine the number of times you daydreamed about breaching out.”

“Like, thousands.”

“But you went. And you let him hurt you. And you stayed.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ve always known you were one of the bravest men I knew. This just confirms that.”

He swallowed. “Thanks.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand again before letting it go. “If you want to go home right now, there’s a protective detail waiting for the word to go to your apartment.”

His stomach sank. “Shit.”

“What?”

“You’ll need one too. A protective detail. One of Wolfe’s pet meta-wing guards - he threatened you. Right before they released me.”

She drew in her breath and let it out, her eyes very wide.

“Nothing concrete,” he said quickly. “All very plausible-deniability. But he was talking about how if I blabbed, they’d have to pay you a visit and stuff. Their boss getting arrested had probably got them mad enough for … stuff.”

She nodded, slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay? Caitlin, I know it doesn’t sound like much, but these were bad dudes, they - ”

“I know,” she said. “I’ll ask Joe for protective detail. Or maybe I can stay over at your place tonight and share yours.”

He squinted at her. “You’re taking this well.” Almost too well. “Caitlin, this is -”

“Scary,” she said, and her voice shook. “Serious. I know. I get it. But I always knew it was a possibility I’d be targeted, being your contact on the outside. None of us thought Warden Wolfe would be happy about getting arrested. So, yes, I’ve been prepared for the idea pretty much since we came up with this sting.” Her mouth worked. “Alongside being scared for you.”

“But you agreed to be my contact anyway.”

“Of course I did. We needed the data to take to the judge and get a warrant.”

“Barry could have run by the prison every day,” Cisco argued. “You didn’t have to be my visitor.”

“I wanted to. Even though we only got to see each other once. I wanted you to know I was coming, every day. I didn’t want you to be all alone in there.”

He studied her a moment, then smiled. “I wasn’t.”

This time, she took his hand. He held it and they leaned together.

It was good to be home.

FINIS


End file.
